


The Head of the Selection Committee

by twowritehands



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, M/M, horny angels, my own attempt to create an angel name, my own take at crowleys position in heaven, since aziraphale is a name created by Gaimen and Pratchett, this whole thing got away from me a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-13 16:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: "I met him once, before the Fall. I didn't catch a name, but... he left an impression.You know how that goes."Aziraphale tells us the story of how he first met Crowley in heaven, before Eden, and how it impacted their friendship through the millennia.





	The Head of the Selection Committee

**Author's Note:**

> It seems Aziraphale was guarding the garden alone, but "Guardian of the Eastern Gate" sounds like there were 3 other gates to Eden, which is what I went with for this fic.... Not that it super duper matters lol 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

I met him once, before the Fall. I didn't catch a name, but... he left an impression.

You know how that goes.

There I was, a Principality with a fire sword, stretching my wings, and getting used to something called a body. I was training to take my very first post, you see. I hoped to be put in Eden, but there were only four gates and about a million angels interviewing for the position.

And there he was, a Dominion supervising the training, the head of the selection committee. He came in with an Archangel, talking in low voices.

I noticed him right away. He was tall, slender, and carried a scepter with an orb of light on the end. It cast strange shadows as he casually twirled it around his fingers. His hair was so red, neatly trimmed and parted on one side, in the popular style of most dominions. He wore robes from the very best of heaven's tailors.

As I duelled for the honor of protecting one of the four gates to Eden, it felt like he was staring at me.

Or, no, he wasn't staring. Just thinking, I thought. That scepter twirled slowly round and round, shadows shifting across his pointed, pensive face.

I tried to ignore him, but it is quite literally impossible for a lower angel to disregard a lordship such as he. And who would want to?

I took another peek at him as I parried a flaming blow. Through the guttering fire, I saw him chuckle at something The Light Bringer said.

Yes, it was only then that I realized it was the most beloved archangel walking with him. Lucifer himself. And that says something, doesn't it? That a dominion is more beautiful than the most beautiful archangel? 

God knew what She was doing there, making them so remarkably gorgeous. Yet the dominion alone held my attention. 

I gathered my strength and focused on the duel. It was important to impress the bosses. I had to do my best. I had been in possession of the new body for several hours by this point, ready to prove myself.

And that I did. Quite well, actually. In three moves, I disarmed my opponent. I could have smite him--I think I was meant to--but I stopped the blazing tip of the sword one inch from the heart. Perhaps it would cost me the job--what kind of guard didn't like killing?--but I couldn't bring myself to harm an unarmed creature. 

The dominion's scepter stopped twirling, orb of light right side up. He cleared his throat. "Nice. Yeah."

That voice made me tingle; it was precisely the right frequency.

I sheathed the sword and helped the defeated opponent to his feet. We faced the higher angels with our heads bowed properly. I would have liked to stare at the dominion as blatantly as he was looking at me, but I knew my place.

As we waited for judgement, I could feel the dominion's eyes sliding down the contours of my body. Wait, no. That was just sweat trickling along my bare torso toward the waistband of my low slung standard issue angel training sweatpants.

"What is your name, Principality?" Lucifer asked. His voice hit me with discordance; grating, irritable.

I opened my mouth to answer but was cut across by the dominion, who smacked his lips, 

"Ah. No, Lu. Not him."

My heart sank.

Though my eyes were trained on the reflective white floor, I could feel the archangel eyeing me. It was not as pleasant as the dominion's pensive gaze. "No?" Lucifer asked.

"Naahhhh. He's going to be on Earth. Pointless."

I looked up sharply, straight into golden eyes. His thin lips were bowed, tilted to one side. He winked. It was the very first wink, actually.

Lucifer conceded the point with a shrug. They moved on.

I had not said a word. Too moved and confused. I had no idea what they were talking about, was hurt that I hadn't made the cut for whatever it was they were doing, but was pleased with part of what he said. I would be on earth. I got the job!

Guardian of the Eastern Gate. How marvelous. 

It was almost a shame, really. I wouldn't have minded seeing him again, but Dominions were to work in heaven. It would be at least 6 thousand years before I had the chance to casually bump into him again and get properly introduced because--

I was going to earth!

Eden was wonderful. I found many fascinating and oh so lovely things in that garden but nothing half so wonderful as what was to be called Food. I indulged myself with fruits and vegetables and salads as The Almighty sculpted a new aspect for the garden, forming it out of clay.

A mortal being called a man to be named Adam. He would have Free Will and he had a body just like mine--minus the wings.

(And okay, minus some new softness that had only recently showed up in my body and that God lovingly called pudge. Apparently foods need to be "burned off." I asked God to make it not be so but the request was ignored.)

Just before Adam drew his first breath, Lucifer tried to lead an uprising. Terrible business. God sorted it rather... radically. Like a doctor with a scalpel, cutting away all infected flesh, she removed the rebels.Being already in Eden at the time, I only heard headline news that Heaven was in chaos, and had no idea who had survived the Fall and who hadn't…

That was the first time I felt lonely. 

I tried to console myself. Heaven may have been a mess, but at least the garden remained an untouched paradise. From my post on the wall, I could see Adam and Eve froliking in the crystal clear waterfall. Their joyous laughter had to be the point of it all, didn't it? It was so lovely.

It wouldn't last long. 

They ate the forbidden fruit and were cast out of the garden. All because a serpent whispered in their ears. Suddenly, even Eden was in turmoil.

Where had the fiend come from? How did he get in? It wasn't through the eastern gate--Thank God--but it was through the eastern gate that Adam and Eve left the garden.

In a moment of blind pity for the poor lost souls, I gave them my sword.

What would happen next? I wrung my hands and prayed to no avail. God didn't have to answer any of my questions. I wasn't meant to comprehend Her plan.

It was on the garden wall that I met the serpent. Probably meant to slay him, but that was the last thing to occur to me. 

Because I instantly recognized him. More accurately, I recognized that stare and the shape of his mouth. It was--but--he-- oh dear, how dreadful.

He no longer had the scepter, or pure white wings--his eyes had gone beastly--but it was him. The dominion.

Oh what a ghastly fall from Grace. To go from a lordship in heaven to a fiend of hell, working as a belly crawler on earth. I pitied him--or I would have done, if I hadn't had quite a lot on my mind at the time. 

"Crawly," he called himself. I got the feeling that was a new name to go with the new job, but I didn't ask. 

His new reptilian eyes slid all over me. "Where's your fiery sword?"

I was on the edge of the very first panic attack, rambling to justify my actions. Now we knew angels could fall, I didn't want to be found guilty of wrongdoing. If dominions became belly crawlers I didn't want to know what a principality became in hell.

When the rain started up, he cowered beneath my wing, away from the cold sting of the drops. I studied the dark sky, half afraid this phenomenon was to do with my actions, but growing calmer by every drop, as heaven seemed to weep for Adam and Eve.

"I hate this," Crawly hissed.

I had my face turned upwards, smiling at the sensation. "It feels wonderful ."

"Nope. No it doesn't. Feels like little knives."

I wondered if it was holy rain. And if so, was it not my duty to make him bathe in it? But I rather liked how close he was standing to me now, the heat radiating off his thin body, and the way his frizzy red hair brushed the underside of my wing with every gust of wind.

Crawly let out a miserable moan. "Hhhhggnn, Earth. Why did I take this job?"

"I imagine Earth is a bit of a promotion out of the depths of hell." I said with caution.

The demon moved an eyebrow. "Well, you've got that right. Still. It's field work ." He said this like a dirty word. 

"You prefer a desk?" I asked before remembering--oops. Of course dominions preferred desk jobs. They were made for it. I waited for the serpent to fly into a rage at the reminder of his lost glory.

Instead, Crawly only cut his slit eyes sideways and said, "Suppose you don't?"

"Oh. Working in the field truly is the best job in the universe! We get to experience reality, Crawly. How lucky are we? Every moment is full of new discoveries. Like the rain. The sensation of rain. AH!--" my voice escaped me in a shuddering fashion and I dropped back my head, showing teeth to the sky. 

Beneath my wing, Crawly perked up and asked, "The heaven was that?"

"A bead of water just slid down my spine! Oh that felt most invigorating!"

The rain intensified, now coming down in hard driving sheets. My robes became soaked through, plastered to my body. As was my hair, which was threatening to fall into my eyes now.

Lightning forked across the sky. Thunder shook the sandstones under our feet.

Crawly's eyes were huge, his mouth was an open little frown, near a whimper. My wing was doing very little now to keep him dry.

"Be not afraid. They gave you a body for this world… You should use it."

Crawly looked disgusted. "What for?"

"To...to take it in!" I closed my wings. 

He flinched as the rain slapped him in the face. He cowered and held up his hands, but then, slowly, he stood to his full height. He let the rain hit his face, and he breathed to the bottom of his lungs. His wings opened and trembled. They were rather striking, charcoal black with hints of gray. Oh, they matched the storm clouds. What fun.

Crawly's wet hair, no longer frizzed out, hung like thick red snakes against his face and long, thin neck. I saw his prominent larynx pulse as he swallowed and laughed. 

I extended my arms and wings too. "Yes, that's it! Take in all of Her glorious creation, Crawly! It is so complex, these bodies need five senses to navigate it. Look at the rain. Feel it. Taste it. Smell it. Listen to it! And that is only the rain! They are so many wonders in this beautiful world!"

Another boom of thunder shook the wall and Crawly shrieked with laughter. It was a wicked sound full of temptation. "Oh, the thunder . Yes. Thunder! I like the way that tastes!"

I pulled a face. "Thunder doesn't taste like anything. I think you mean you like how it sounds. Or feels."

A forked tongue flicked into the air. "It tasssstessss. Trusssst me, angel."

I gulped, swallowing the water sliding off my nose. "My name is Aziraphale, actually."

"Aziraphale," he repeated. And somehow, for some ineffable reason, his voice still had the dominion of heaven in it.

I caught my breath. "A-angel's fine, actually. Better not be too familiar with the enemy."

He hissed and snorted. "Right…" he looked around. "We supposed to duel or something?"

"Well…" he had a point, but I didn't have my sword. I used the first excuse to come to me. "Not in this weather, I should think."

He visibly relaxed. "Right. Yeah. Weather like this is too good to waste working."

"Precisely."

He stood by me for another minute or so, but if we weren't going to fight or talk, it was best to carry on.

That was my chance to ask for his old name. I didn't take the opportunity. It would have spoiled the moment. And also, I had just remembered our brief encounter in Heaven, how instead of introductions, Crawly had said

_ "Not him." _Uninterested. And it still hurt, to be honest. And isn't that something that has withstood the test of time? The little cut of rejection when the cool ones look right over you?

Thinking of these things, I suddenly stopped having so much fun with the demon there in the rain. Perhaps sensing my guard going up, Crawly turned back into a snake and slithered away.

Maybe he just wanted to feel the rain on his scales. Or maybe he was never any more interested in me now as he had been then.

::::

In Mesopotamia, Crawly surprised me, turning up out of nowhere. I suppose I expected to hear about him in the area first, like last time. Or spot him from far off, like the first. 

No, this time, I was inches from him before realizing he wasn't a human man. But I should have known by his hair, at least. It was the only constant about him so far. Vibrant red curls. We both had our wings folded clean out of sight. (We were to work incognito outside the garden.)

I was sorry not to see the stormy color of his feathers. I had looked at every cloud in the centuries since and none of them had quite the same mosaic of colors. Not even the storm brewing overhead. Had his somehow copied that first vestal storm? Would they ever look so fetching again, or would they only reflect the current sky? 

I rather hoped they would adopt the flat gray above. Then I would care less. 

It was terribly inconvenient to be preoccupied in this manner. My humanly body had a rather alarming way of responding to certain images, tastes, smells, and even ideas.

Being reminded of the sensuous rainstorm put me in a physiological predicament, and if I were to even catch a glimpse of wings that beautiful again, I feared I would lose the self restraint I had managed so far. 

To make matters worse, Crawly was arguing about the doomed children and really--trying to contain a primal instinct on the surface while also trying not to question the Almighty at one's core is too much for anyone. I wished he would just go already. 

At the very least, I wished my body wasn't literally throbbing and twitching with every other word he grumble-hissed. That voice, Lord, why didn't he lose that voice when he lost Grace? It didn't make sense. 

He asked about the flaming sword, so that opened the past up for discussion. I was rather curious about his friendship with Lucifer, and that moment before time when he had selected me for the garden gate duty, virtually saving me from the Fall, even while hurting my feelings and simultaneously granting me my deepest wish.

But I couldn't form the words.

What kind of a lunatic asked demons point blank about their grace? Suicidal ones, probably. Just as I wrestled my erection, I wrestled this curiosity. No good could come of asking why he Fell. He would either kill me, or, worse, he would answer. And infect me.

As the unicorn galloped toward the stormy horizon, rain began to fall in earnest. We looked up at the sky and then at each other. I drew in a deep breath, the cold rain sliding down my face. The sensation didn't feel as lovely now as the last time we had stood in the rain together. Maybe it was because I still had my innocence back then. Now all I could think was how the cold water and cold wind was rapidly sapping away at the sexual tension of the moment.

It was with a vague sense of disappointment that I remembered that first ever rain. The thrills of it. The strange intimacy of it.

Maybe Crawly was remembering, too. It was hard to read him. His inscrutable expressions were another thing that had survived his fall from Grace, it seemed.

I remembered him watching my audition, the way the scepter light had traversed his pensive face. The way his angelic golden eyes had looked right through me.

_ Not him _.

Now, at the beginning of the Great Flood, our eyes locked as the rain soaked us. Crawly grinned wickedly and, without a word, he winked at me and disappeared into the crowd.

::::

The next time we saw each other was at the crucifixion. He slithered up behind me and announced he was changing his name again. "I changed it to Crowley."

As much as I wanted to take that opening to learn more about him--who he was in his heavenly existence and how that attributed to who he is now after his Fall--I averted my thoughts. Christ was literally hanging before us. Now was a time to forgive and forget. 

Perhaps once he was a shining dominion of heaven. But that was no more. Now he was Crowley; no longer Crawly who had entered the garden, or that enigmatic dominion who had Fallen. Just... Crowley. And I would do well to let the past and all its barbs--_Ah, no, Lu._ _Not him-_-lie.

"What did he do anyway?" Crowley asked, looking at the painful way the man dangled from the cross.

"He said be kind to one another."

"Oh. That'll do it."

I hadn't seen him since Mesopotamia, but he looked good; a product of the century. The clothes were not quite so roughly hewn nowadays. His eyes and mouth were still beastly, though. Suppose there was no disguising an evil fiend. 

Some humans recoiled from him in fear. Others barely noticed. I, on the other hand, had a visceral response. By now, I had worked out the power he had over me. He was an immortal, like me. I could count on him being here. He made Earth less lonely.

Not, all together, a good reason to give in to temptation. There wasn't a clear cut rule, but only because no angel should need to be told not to bed a demon.

::::

In Rome, I found him wearing a stylish toga, colored lenses that disguised his beastly eyes, and shorn hair. I wasn't even sure it was him, but when I asked, he proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was the same demon I knew in the desert.

By this point, I had mastered my libido but it wasn't dead. And the fresh bath oils on his skin were painting a steamy image of the bathhouses in my traitorous mind. I thanked God I had not bumped into him there, at least. 

"Never actually had an oyster," he said casually after I brought up the delicacy.

I gasped. Oh, I had to show him, teach him this delectable wonder. He allowed it. As I displayed how to properly shuck the thing--learning as I went that sunglasses did nothing to keep the feeling of his eyes off me--I rather distantly saw the parallel of this moment to the first rain. 

Me teaching Crowley how to take it in, to make the most out of the flesh and bone we lugged all over the world. 

I knew from the moment Crowley slurped the oyster and licked his lips, looking at me over the lenses, that a demon's main directive was pleasure, and he was an expert.

Had he been lying to me about never having an oyster? Just to… what, just to let me show him?

And why was that so damn alluring?

We closed out the summer sitting, eating oysters, and talking. Crowley took a full day to lick the salt off his lips and kept holding the shells close to his open mouth as he listened to whatever I was saying--words stitched together in uniform order, marching from my tongue dutifully no matter what depraved thing was in my mind. 

Crowley wanted me. It was clear he had explored deeper pleasures than mere food and rain, and now he tempted me with every mannerism.

When autumn broke, I checked the time. 

"Sorry. I have a slightly pressing miracle to orchestrate."

The miracle wasn't actually due until winter but I needed to get out of there. Actually, I left Rome all together. That whole society was too focused on carnal pleasures. To be honest, I wasn't too upset when it eventually fell…though I think Crowely was a bit sullen for it.

We met up again in Wessex. Let it be a mark for how horrendous that cluster of centuries were that I wasn't aroused by him at all in this meeting. A hundred pounds of armor, traveling on horseback, dampness everywhere--it took a toll. Crowley made a rather good point about working hard for no gain. That was when we started our Arrangement.

And, yes, I know that it was the Arrangement that prompted him to save me from the guillotine. If he had let me die then he would have to go back to real work, but it was still rather nice of him. We certainly didn't have to get crepes after. I think that bit had more to do with the tempting I had avoided in Rome. 

But you never say no to crepes.

"Why don't you eat?" I asked him. He had not bothered to order himself the mouth-watering French dish. Instead, he just sat there watching my every bite. 

"Food innit that amazing."

"But it is!" I insisted whole heartedly. 

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

"No. it. isn't." he hissed. 

I waited for the tension in his shoulders and fists to ease, and then said, quickly, "Yes, it is."

He sighed but forfeited the war. There. We had duelled, in a fashion. That would be enough for the memo.

"Food isn't as amazing as sleep. Have you slept yet?"

"Why would I sleep when there are so many foods and books to try?"

Crowley propped on a fist, showing his teeth. His voice was a rare rumble that only crepes triumphed over as the single best thing in the universe. "Because sleeping is where things get really cool."

In that moment, with a bite of scrumptious crepe on my tongue and his amused voice in my ear, I was back in that first rain of Eden.

"You're talking of dreams." I had read about them in books. "I didn't know we could have dreams."

"We have corporal brains, angel. Brains dream. It's what they do." The matter of fact way he said this suddenly made the conversation about human anatomy as a whole. We were no longer only discussing brains.

"Oh. Well. Then I shall have to try it sometime."

What? What did I just say? That wasn't at all my intended speech. I scrambled to add, "Sleeping. Dreams. I'll. I'll give that a go. But only if you order a crepe."

Crowley leaned back and snapped his fingers for a waiter. 

"You'll want a good bed. I have a really good one." He still wasn't only talking about dreams. I realized I was sucking on my fork, the way he had sucked on oyster shells in Rome. I put the fork down. But instantly preferred to have another bite of crepe, so picked it back up.

To distract him from the subvert discussion of what I might do in his bed, I asked,

"When a demon says good, do you actually mean bad?"

"What?" his sunglasses actually jumped he creased his face so hard. From there we sank three years arguing semantics, and all plans of Tempting were forgotten. 

::::

Several centuries later, Crowley suddenly had a first name. 

"Antony?" I repeated in shock. It really is rather embarrassing when a pair of Nazis know your best friend's name before you do. 

"You don't like it?" he asked, hopping from foot to foot. I shrugged. Antony was from Shakespeare, the very play in which Crowley's line had been used. 

"I'll get used to it. What's the J stand for?"

"It's just a, uh. J, really," he said. I didn't believe it. Put a demon on consecrated ground and he gets a little too preoccupied to lie properly. I should really get him in a church more often. 

But there really wasn't time to press the matter. There was an actual bomb falling on our heads. Afterwards, as I looked over the precious books he had so thoughtfully saved for me, I remembered the J and had a beguiling suspicion that it was an old initial. 

::::

When our incompetent but whole hearted plan to avert Armageddon was over, we dined at the Ritz. It was lovely, really. Fine wine, excellent food. Crowley said the kindest things and ordered some oysters. I pretended not to make the connection, and worked hard not to stare at his salty lips now as I had then. 

He knew what he was doing and whenever our eyes did happen to meet, he gave me the sauciest of grins. He was waiting. As the books would say, the ball was in my court.

I was happy. Between the food and his extremely mild form of Tempting, everything was as it should be.

But, as was his way, Crowley eventually got restless. He gave up waiting on me to do it. He leaned his elbows on the table, haunched in low and near me as if the scheming wasn't over. Sometimes his smile literally squirmed across his lips from one corner to the other and that’s what it did now. He pitched his voice just right, “Wanna get outta here?”

I slowly put my utensils on either side of my plate. The immediate future was clear to me. After all, the only thing holding me back all of this time was the fear of what heaven might think. But as Crowley said: we were on our own side now. And They were going to be leaving us alone. For now.

In other words, we could do as we wished. And we should do it now, while we still had the chance.

Ideally, I would have answered his question with something witty. Charming. Perhaps even ever so slightly wicked just to see him light up with delight. But, dear me, that wasn’t what happened at all. It was as if the certainty of the night’s pleasures triggered something inside of me. A kind of panic. Perhaps even a self destruct button. It was certainly sabotage.

But, see, there was something I had to know. I could not do what I was about to do without knowing.

“What was your name before you fell out of grace?” I asked.

Fuck.

The low simmering heat instantly left his expression. The tension in him slid swiftly from the fun side of the scale into the terrifying. There was a beat, then three, and he asked, voice low but dull with feigned aloofness. “Why does it matter?”

“Indulge me,” I whispered, afraid I was ruining it all. Our one chance. He was angry to be reminded--at a time like this--of the worst thing to ever happen to him. He could storm off and not resurface for centuries. By then our window could be closed.

“It was a long time ago,” he grumbled. He slumped back in his chair, frustrated and impatient with me. He was practically whining, “From before we even met!”

“We’d met!” I cried, mortified that he didn’t remember it at all whilst I had dwelt upon it for so many ages. “I-I mean there was no--formal -- introduction. It was in passing, really. When. When I got the job.” I shifted my knife and fork on the napkin and then shifted them back into their proper place.

He tilted his head and smirked. “Ah yeah. I’d forgotten.” He drew a sudden deep breath and reared back to have a good look at all of me. “You were so young then! And fit! What the devil happened?”

“Six thousand years and crepes,” I returned primly, making him laugh which was lovely. I cleared my throat and shot him a glance. “You were…” I couldn't think of a single thing about him from then that was better than now. Not a single thing. And by the lift of an eyebrow over those shades and the curl in his lips, he knew it. He tilted his chair back on two legs.

“I waaaas….?”

“Cliquish.”

It wasn’t what he expected. His chair fell flat. “I was what ?”

“Cliquish,” I enunciated. “You and Lucifer. You were in your little club. You said, Not him and the pair of you left.”

Crowley’s jaw was on the floor. “Why is your memory _ so good _?” he accused. “I don’t remember anythin’ from 6,000 years ago except for what a cunt Gabriel was and that the floors were always so reflective you could see up Sandalphon’s robes.” He shuddered.

My attempt to mute my uproarious laughter resulted in a snort.

Crowley was draped across the back of his chair, gazing at me in that way he had taken to doing somewhere in the last century. Was he amused? A bored cat playing with a lonely mouse to pass the time until dinner? I just couldn’t tell by that look. 

Either way, he was hungry, I suppose. 

“Ah, don’t worry about it, angel,” he drawled. “You were lucky not to make the cut. Or you’d’ve,” he pointed up but then swan dived the finger into the table cloth, “taken a long walk off a short pier like the rest of us. You’d be goin’ around with a swarm of little white baby salamanders on your head or something.”

I leaned forward, speaking in earnest, “If I had known what you and The Morning Star were planning, I would have tried to talk you out of it. I might have--”

“Don’t do that, angel,” Crowley insisted with a moderate voice but firmness enough to make me listen. “ Don’t .” He let the tension break with one of his smiles. He lifted his hands to indicate the Ritz around us. “Because it doesn't really matter now does it? We’re here! We stopped The Apocalypse!”

He lifted his glass for a toast. I clinked our glasses. He drank deeply. I was sorry for bringing it all up. It must have been so very dreadful. 

And now, even though he was trying to be his usual easy and cool self, he was angry. It bubbled and teemed just under his surface. Rage came off him in waves like heat comes off a Japanese hibachi grill. 

Remembering his forced blistering dive into the inferno of Hell--and knowing that all it took to be shoved into that Pit was asking a few questions--well. Angry probably doesn’t actually begin to cover it.

Indeed, I am quite sure that the rage of a demon is as ineffable as the plans of a God.

My hand lighted on his. “Let’s go,” I whispered.

He looked at me with a moment of surprised wonder and then he stood.

As we walked away from the Ritz, I tried to reconcile it within myself that I would have him without knowing the name God had given him. It was naught but silly romanticism that had demanded the knowledge anyway.

Thunder broke across the sky over London. Crowley hissed in delight and looked upwards just as a hard cold rain began to fall. “I love the thunder!”

“I remember,” I said. Our shoulders brushed. All around us, humans had begun to dash for cover. We alone maintained a leisurely stride. We didn’t lower our heads or even turn up our collars.

The backs of our hands brushed once. Then twice.

Crowley’s fingers slid between mine. “Jaffasaraph,” he mumbled.

He managed to make the s a z sound. Ja-FAH-zeh-raf. My heart soared. 

“But I don’t--” he hurried to add. “I don’t really look like a Jaffasaraph anymore. The body Hell issued to me when I took this gig looks like however I want it to look but the--the me outside this body is--” he cleared his throat. “Pretty banged up. Lots of. Scars and things. Can we please talk about anything else? Please?”

I squeezed his hand. “Do you really think I’d have been made into a salamander if I had Fallen?”

“Oh ab-so --lutely! !” he roared into the rain. Thunder cracked through the atmosphere. His hair was flat as he gave me his most fiendish little grin, “There isn’t another crawly thing half so ridiculously helpless as the salamander.”

“Be nice,” I bumped my shoulder into his. He bumped back.

I was smiling. I couldn't help it. He thought of who I would be in his world, the same way I couldn't stop thinking of him as he had been in mine. 

I glanced and caught him glancing too. But he owned up to it, staring while a smile stretched slowly across his face and I nearly tripped on the sidewalk. He laughed and glanced at the growling thunder overhead. 

"Come on, angel, before Gabriel throws a bolt of lightning at us for fun or something."

He had a rather good point. I looked at the sky in utter betrayal as we hurried along. 

The deluge continued, soaking us clear through to the bone. It didn't take long for the charm of the summer rainstorm to pass. I wished I had driven Crowley's car when I'd left his flat as him that morning. But that would have required knowing how to drive.

"I'll miracle us the Bentley," I snapped my fingers. The car appeared on the corner.

Crowley frowned at it. "Nah," he said, and snapped his fingers.

Suddenly, we stood under a huge black umbrella that he held.

I'd never known Crowley to refuse to drive me anywhere since the day he bought that car. I frowned at him. "Whyever not?"

His arm went behind me, his hand gently pressing in the small of my back. "We're having a lovely walk, aren't we?"

I allowed him to push me along, curious about his reaction to the car but willing to let it drop for now. It was rather nice, walking so near him under the same umbrella. Couples did such things.

Inside my shop we stood dripping on the carpet, staring at all the books without a word. It still didn't feel quite like home. These books were just like my old ones but they weren't the same underneath. 

"S'like my car," he said. "New coat of paint doesn't fix the burned out husk hidden within."

"Is that why you didn't drive it?" I asked in shock, forgetting tact. So many things were coming into focus here. Plants with ugly spots, cars with hidden damage--Crowley hated things that reminded him of himself.

He grumbled and puffed like he had acid reflux, then shrugged it all off. My heart broke a little bit for my dear, _ dear _ friend.

"You aren't a car, or a shop, or a houseplant Crowley."

He looked rather vulnerable when I listed the plant. And my tone softened. "You're…"

Crowley stared at me, waiting for the answer. 

I sighed. "You're my best friend."

He grunted and sauntered closer. Much closer. Our wet clothes brushed, and I could see his eyes through the tinted glass. They were downcast. He couldn't look directly at me.

"That all?"

My nerves were rising again. I tried to breathe through it. My heart was racing. This was exhilarating, having no rules to curb my instinct. Unable to speak, I shook my head. 

A drop of water so large and round it reflected light rolled slowly down his temple to the elegant line of his cheekbone. I brushed it away with my thumb.

His eyes closed at the touch, lips parting with the faintest wet smack. I could smell the white flowers, orange peel and wild berries on his breath from the champagne. It drew me closer, and our open lips brushed together.

He hummed and pressed harder. I grabbed the back of his head and went deeper, seeking out the taste of those wild berries. He fisted my clothes, stretching my jacket. I tensed. He broke his lips free. 

"Take it off then," he ordered, flapping his hand impatiently.

With a large grin of appreciation, I shouldered out of the jacket and laid it neatly across the back of a chair. Crowley visibly tried to collect himself, pacing and raking a hand through his hair. It damaged the crisp product and left the quiff a bit floppy.

"Not too fast, this? If it is, we can. We can…" his ability to form sentences alluded him. "Scrabble. Or monopoly or something?"

Grinning, I caught his elbows to settle him, and brushed a fallen strand off his forehead.

"I'm okay. Are you okay?"

A long pause. Then he shook his head and lashes, and sucked in his lower lip. "Dunno. Uhhumn," he cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

I stroked his hair and caught another raindrop--this time with my lips--as it tried to fall out of his eyebrow.

He exhaled and gulped, shuddering perhaps from the chill of rain. "Just trying to take it all in."

I hummed, lingering on his brow.

He removed my bowtie with slow, deliberate tugs until the fabric hissed out of my collar. I removed his glasses and kissed him harder, now on the mouth, and with some teeth. His arms tightened around my neck and his legs wrapped around me. He didn't weigh any more than a crate of books. I carried him with ease right up the stairs to my room. 

And the rest… 

The rest is private business, thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley's angel name came from some very fast and loose research and playing with google translator.
> 
> Jaffa = handsome in Hebrew
> 
> Seraph = "burning one" or "serpent" according to one completely random website about angel names
> 
> Seemed fitting, bc he's a handsome snek


End file.
